The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files)

by Bloom, Anna

  “I don’t protect everyone’s feelings,” I say.

  I don’t. I certainly don’t protect my own.

  “Why did you say ‘yes’ to John when he asked you to marry him?”

  Ugh, what a question!

  I hate to think of that night. The flutes of champagne that I did not even notice until it was too late to make an escape and the look on John’s face that pleaded with me not to let him down.

  “Because I didn’t want to let him down,” I whisper.

  Ben takes my hand. “All you did was let yourself down,” he whispers back.

  We sit there in silence. I don’t really know what to say. I realise Ben has always known far more about me than I ever assumed. More than I know about him.

  With a gasp of shock, it hits me that he always knew about John.

  “Oh my god! You knew about John, didn’t you? Right from the start. That’s why you weren’t surprised in the Fez Club?”

  He absently rubs my ring finger, the indentation from the cursed ring is no longer there.

  “I knew that I wanted you, and I would wait however long it took until you were mine. I guess I didn't expect it to go quite the way it has,” he says with a wry smile.

  “So where does that leave us now?”

  He is going to say that it is over, that our 'let’s pretend' is finished. He is not going to give me my six months with him.

  “Let’s just play it by ear, shall we?”

  “Okay.” My chest feels like it has been struck a deathblow.

  He pecks a kiss on my cheek and then starts to get up from the bed. Before I can stop myself, I grab him and pull his lips to mine. The action is automatic and I can do nothing to stop it. I just close my eyes and hope he does not push me away. He doesn’t, and he kisses me right back.

  “Do you think I should talk to Tristan?” I ask after I have pulled away.

  “I think you would be crazy not to,” Ben answers softly, giving me a wink which means that he thinks I am crazy anyway.

  I must be.

  25th January

  2.37 p.m.

  This lecture cannot go fast enough. I have a date with my brother, and for the first time in what seems like forever, I am actually looking forward to seeing him. Yesterday evening I lay in bed listening to Ben play guitar through the wall and realised that the one person in my entire life that I should be closest to—my twin—is actually the furthest away. So I texted him and asked him to meet me. We are meeting at Costa and I can’t wait. First thing I am going to do is make him buy me the biggest coffee they have in order to make up for all the money he ponced off me at Christmas.

  Bloody cheek.

  26th January

  9.00 p.m.

  If there is one day that I will never want to re-live it will be this one.

  Scrap that. I do not even want to be able to remember today, I would like someone to take it away. Now.

  It is nine o'clock and I am in Ben’s bed. His arms are around me tight and his fingers are tracing patterns along my sides. I do not feel it, though. I am emotionally dead. I have been chewed up by some emotion-sucking monster and spat back out again.

  Yesterday, Tristan and I had our first ever grown-up sibling conversation, which was great. Then it all went horribly wrong. So wrong that I wish I could go to sleep now and wake up unable to remember anything that has taken place.

  Of all the occasions I have suffered memory misplacement, this is the one time I could truly do with it.

  Costa and the Coffee of Truth

  I ran out of class as soon as the bell rang and dashed to Deathtrap Cooper, which I drove at high speed into Putney. I was eager to see Tristan and I never thought I would feel that way about him. It was a new crazy friendly feeling. It was a bit odd but I was willing to go with it.

  “Why did you not tell me?” I ask, stirring my humongous mocha/choca/every ingredient possible including whipped cream drink.

  “Now, let me think, Delilah. Are you aware that you're a little stuck-up?”

  I flick a sugar packet missile at him.

  “You know, for seven years I watched you shrivel away. The longer you were there at the bank, and the longer you were with that idiot, John, the less of my sister I actually recognised.”

  I stare at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I couldn’t work out what it was you wanted. You just seemed to be sleepwalking around, completely unaware that life was going on. I couldn't tell what was real and what was an act.”

  “So I ask again, why did you not say anything?”

  “Because we were estranged enough anyway. I thought that if I called you on your little miserable existence that you would cut me out completely.”

  It’s a fair point, I probably would have.

  “Okay,” I say. There’s no use arguing.

  “You were acting, though, weren’t you, Lilah?”

  “Of course I bloody was.”

  “Thank fuck for that. For the record, that ring was hideous!”

  I laugh very loudly. “Yes, it truly was. I suppose in that case size does not matter!”

  We snigger away for a few moments recalling the iceberg ring John had given me that would have comfortably sunk the Titanic and its sister ship without taking a scratch.

  Well, hasn’t this just been two days of revelations?

  “When you decided to go to University, I knew that you had finally woken up. I was really proud of you that day. You finally stood up to Dad.”

  “How do you bloody know? You legged it before the row got going!”

  He laughs at this. “Well, you made it to University didn’t you? You are far stronger then you give yourself credit for. And you were brave enough to break up with John even though it was the one thing that you dreaded doing.”

  “Yeah, look where that got me.”

  “It got you free, Lilah. You know that you could tell Ben today how you feel and he would change everything for you. You are all he really wants.”

  I scrunch my face into a scowl. “Yeah, but he deserves more. Anyway we are not here to talk about me, we are here to discuss living arrangements.”

  He raises an eyebrow.

  “I do not want to give in to Dad.” There I have said it.

  Tristan gives a slow sarcastic clap of his hands. “At last! She realises the error of her ways!”

  I have nothing left to flick at him, so I just stick my tongue out instead.

  “So what we going to do?” I ask. I want to hurry this along and get back to Uni so I can tell Ben and Meredith I am a big girl and won’t give in to my tyrannical father.

  “How much do you have in your rainy day account?”

  “Hundred and fifty grand,” I announce, to which he gives a low whistle, “Would have been more but our little depressed Christmas shopping spree created a bit of a hole, as did Ben’s present. Turns out guitars are bloody expensive!”

  He raises his eyebrow again, as if to say, Yes, you divvy mare, they are expensive when you are attempting to say three relatively little words with it.

  I ignore the eyebrow. It is still bloody annoying, no matter how well we are getting on.

  “How about we use your cash for a deposit, and for a new sofa? Don’t think I didn’t find your ink blob, Delilah.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me before continuing. “And I will pay the mortgage. That way, we should get somewhere big enough for all of us?”

  “All of us?”

  “Well, yeah, you will be with us, won’t you? If you do not go back to the bank, Dad will not have you back home again. Well, not in the next decade anyway.”

  He smirks a little.

  I think secretly he may be enjoying being Dad’s golden child at the moment.
Although it won't last when Tristan announces in a couple of weeks he has knocked up an eighteen-year-old!

  “Yeah, I will be with you. You, Meredith, and the baby.” My stomach gives a little flip as I say the words.

  He smiles happily at me.

  “Tristan?”

  “Yep?”

  “You know I love you, right?”

  There, I said it. I have told one of the two men in my life the words even if I cannot say it to the other.

  “Yeah, I love you, too, Sis.”

  He is going to say something else, but both of our phones ring at once.

  I glance at mine. Jayne, that’s weird.

  Tristan looks at his and reports that it's Ben.

  We both stare at each other for a second.

  “Meredith!” We both exclaim, staring at each other.

  Tristan and I both answer our phones at the same time. Ben and Jayne tell us that Meredith is not well and we should come home. So we go, neither of us wanting to show our panic but still pushing the damn shitty car to the max.

  We reach the dorm in record time and may as well walk into a scene from a horror movie. Jayne is crying as we came in the door and I instantly want to throw up. Ben looks even paler than his normal skin tone and just stares at me blankly.

  Meredith is in the bathroom and there is blood everywhere. Her jeans, which are still on the floor, are drenched and she is staring at the toilet. She looks up at us as we came in and says words that I will never be able to forget.

  “I think my baby is in there.” She gestures at the toilet then she completely falls apart.

  Tristan walks towards her grabbing a towel as he goes and picks her up like a little doll, gently kissing her forehead as he murmurs gentle words I cannot hear over the static buzzing in my ears. He takes her into her room where he sits with her on his lap while I try desperately to get through to the early pregnancy unit at the hospital.

  Finally I get through to some complete mega bitch who tells me that from what I am describing, Meredith has indeed lost the baby but they would not be able to tell for sure until the following morning when the scanning unit is open again.

  “What? You can’t do a scan today?” Disbelief colours my tone.

  Ben glances up and watches me closely. “No, it is closed. Be here tomorrow at nine. It is first come, first served.”

  What?! How shitty is the National Health Service when a young girl, or any woman for that matter, has to go all night without knowing if her baby is alive or not. I just can’t get my head around it, and I tell this to the woman in no uncertain terms, until Ben finally takes the phone away from me, apologises to the woman, and hangs up.

  I turn, starting to scream at him. How dare he undermine me? How dare he imply that I am embarrassing anyone with my anger? Instead of pushing me away, he just grabs me and pulls me in tight and close. Then I start to cry. In the end, he has to take me out of the room as my near hysteria is making Meredith worse.

  Meredith continues to bleed all night. We all sit with her. It is not at all what I expected. Not that I know much about it, but I kind of thought it would just be over. Instead, it is slow and drawn out and desperately traumatic. Ben eventually gives me the phone back so I can call the hospital again. It seems crazy just sitting here, but I am assured, nicely this time, that Meredith is better in the comfort of her own home. The simple fact being that this early in a pregnancy there is little they can do anyway. I have no idea how to tell Meredith this. There are no words for telling your friend news like that.

  At nine this morning we are waiting at the scan unit. Ben holds my hand tightly in loving support, but I think he may also be worried that I will punch the first midwife I spot.

  By nine-thirty we have our answer. Meredith lost the baby at eight weeks and four days.

  Only two weeks ago, the news of the little bump had come as a complete shock to us all, unexpected and unwelcomed. Yet there are four shell-shocked people leaving that hospital. My heart could break over and over again at the memory of Tristan’s face. I will never be able to forget it.

  Meredith is scheduled for a procedure in a few days to make sure that everything is all gone.

  How bad is that? She has to have an operation to make sure that her baby is all gone.

  We came home and drank a lot of vodka. I don’t care that I did not make the full month without alcohol.

  I have also smoked thirty cigarettes, and had sex with Ben, twice. None of it has made me feel better.

  I am not sure that anything ever will.

  27th January

  This morning I called my dad and told him he could go to hell.

  I don’t need him.

  We don’t need him.

  He told me that the Estate Agents would make sure the place was sold by the end of July.

  I told him to do it quicker. We did not want his poncy flat anyway.

  Then I called him an arsehole.

  Then I had sex with Ben again. And then again.

  February

  1st February

  I have awoken to a text from Meredith.

  Meredith: Lil, I have some exciting news. See you Later?

  I have absolutely no idea what can be exciting. She had her operation yesterday, and I have not seen her very much since the whole thing at the hospital. She and Tristan have been at the flat in Putney. Dealing with their world of pain, which I can hardly comprehend no matter how much I try.

  Dad has already sent estate agents around. I mean I know I told him to sell it quick, but really! What a bloody wanker.

  I spoke to Meredith the night before her procedure and she told me she was scared they had made a mistake and that the baby might have still been there. I had no idea how to respond at first

  but then I decided that honesty was the best policy. It seems honesty is always the best policy it just takes a considerable level of maturity and decency to say the right thing. These are life skills I am learning fast.

  “Babe, we all saw that scan. There was no baby anymore. I’m sorry.” This had been met with silence followed by her saying in a small voice, “I know that, I just keep dreaming about it.”

  “I know. I keep dreaming about it, too.”

  She then assured me that as soon as the operation was over she would start getting her arse in gear. She almost sounded upbeat, which is good.

  Not so good is the fact that I will then also have to get my arse in gear. This will mean going dry again, giving up the ciggies, going back to the gym and trying to stop having outrageously awesome sex with Ben at every available opportunity.

  That is going to be a complete bitch.

  Okay, tomorrow is Saturday. I will hit the gym hard and start getting all the nasties out of my system.

  I wonder what Meredith has to tell me. The suspense is killing me.

  Me: What is it? I want to know now.

  Meredith: Be patient! Will be with you in half an hour.

  Me: Just tell me, for goodness sake.

  Meredith: Get Ben and wait for us at Digby bar.

  Ah, Digby bar! My new favourite place as it is so cheap and I no longer have any money due to giving it all to the ‘new home fund.’

  Yay! I will go and knock for Ben.

  The Big News

  11.47 p.m.

  Well, that was all a bit unexpected.

  Hmm. I’m not sure what to think about a single thing that has happened this evening.

  Good? Bad? Weird? I have no clue whatsoever.

  Earlier:

  “Wanna come and play?” I ask, poking my head around Ben's door.

  I no longer bother to knock. Seems kind of pointless when we practically live in each other’s rooms on a casual basis. Well, when we are not ignoring each
other, that is.

  He is sitting on his bed with his guitar, biro in mouth and notebook laid to one side. I know this look. It means he is trying to come up with new lyrics or new tunes, or a combination of both. It is completely fascinating to watch. He sits there dead still just staring off into space and then suddenly spends a frantic couple of minutes scribbling stuff down. Then he goes back to staring again.

  He waves a hand at me and I know he is in the middle of something so I sit on the floor and wait for him to finish.

  It gives me a good chance to ogle him. This is a pastime of which I will never get bored. He really is rather fine, but in a ridiculously unaware way. I don’t think he has the faintest clue what he looks like. In fact, sometimes I wonder what he sees when he looks in the mirror. At the moment he is sporting one of my favourite outfits: sweat pants and a holey stretched-out old T-shirt. It might seem crazy liking him best in what could effectively be pyjamas, but it is when he is casual like this that I find him practically irresistible, most especially when he is padding around barefoot all dishevelled and artistic.

  “Are you drooling?” he jokes.

  I make a show of feeling the floor around me. “No, should I be?”

  “You looked a bit glazed then.”

  “Oh, whatever, big head.”

  “Better believe it, babe!”

  We both start to giggle. ‘Babe’ is not a word he should use. It makes him sound outrageously gay.

  “Come on,” I say. “Meredith wants to meet us in the bar, and before you ask I have no idea why. It is a secret surprise or something.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I will just get changed. Don’t think I should go out in my pyjamas.”

  He gives me a wink, and then makes a show of slowly stripping in front of me. Okay, maybe he is slightly aware of what he looks like, to me, anyway.

  Twenty minutes later we saunter into what has effectively become our local hangout since the Lilah McCannon personal reserve bank closed its doors. Meredith is already there and even through the dim hazy lighting of Digby Student Union Bar I can see what the big news is.